A Phone Call Away
by thefireascending
Summary: After almost disappearing for a year, Effie finally picks up the phone. But is everything as favourable as it seems? Post Mockingjay. Hayffie. Everlark. Copyright allocated to this account.
1. Chapter 1

"Have you tried phoning her?"

Haymitch glanced up from his geese, their food wrapped tightly in his palm. Katniss sat on the fence to his garden, legs swinging absent-mindedly. Her hair was pinned back in its usual braid and a curious expression was plastered upon her face.

He didn't like the look of it.

"Who?" he sighed, ignoring the ache in his back and the way his head thrummed with each word. He was getting old, and while that was considered a victorious feat, it was not one that he needed to be reminded of so often.

Her smirk only grew. "Effie."

The name sent another jolt through his spine, as though the shock of hearing it aloud instead of inside his mind could not be contained. Haymitch shook his head and scattered a handful of bread crumbs onto the grass. "I don't know what you're talking about, girl."

There seemed to be an unspoken agreement these days to leave Haymitch to himself. He had rather noticeably locked himself away, occasionally making an appearance to check on the children- if they could even be called that anymore.

Nobody had heard from Effie, let alone seen her, since the rebellion ended a year previous. It was always assumed that she was busy: new job, extending career, patched up social life. The few times they'd called, no one had answered.

"You know how it is, Katniss; she's never around anymore," Haymitch said, tired of the conversation already.

"She might be now."

Haymitch glanced up again, eyebrows drawn into a frown. "Why are you so persistent with this? I'm kinda doing something here, Sweetheart." But it was a lie, and they both knew it.

Katniss shrugged and hopped down from her perch. "I don't know. Maybe because seeing you sulk continuously grows weary," she teased.

"Then go somewhere else," Haymitch grunted. "And I don't sulk."

With that, the girl was gone, leaving unwanted thoughts and distant memories in her wake. Haymitch looked after her, at the way she crossed the green so peacefully, so free, and he felt a kind of pride. He'd done his job.

Meanwhile, Katniss had achieved something of her own. Side leaning against the kitchen worktop, iced cake in hand, she said, "I did what you asked. He said nothing."

Peeta sighed and crossed the room, choosing to stand beside her. "He won't call?"

"I don't think so." Katniss shrugged and finished off the final bite. "I don't see what it matters. Though it would be nice to see Effie again."

"Mm. So much has changed, hasn't it? Everything's so... different." He reached out and tucked a stray lock behind Katniss' ear. His eyes met hers and she blushed ever so slightly. "We're so different."

"Good different or bad different?" she joked.

"Good. Definitely good." A smile spread across his face and a content silence fell upon the two. They stayed like that for a moment, enjoying the pure bliss of simply being able to, before Peeta spoke again. "Do you think we should call Effie ourselves?"

"We already have. Countless times."

"Once more?"

Katniss smiled and nudged his arm gently. "Go ahead."

That night, huddled in front of a small fire, Peeta made the call. He let it ring once, twice, three times. No response.

Their home was warm, both in spirit and temperature. Things had improved a lot. Needless to say, nightmares still came and went, but they were bearable now. Everything seemed a lot easier with someone else to depend upon. Someone else to care.

"She's not picking up," Peeta said without lifting his gaze. "Do you think she's okay?"

Katniss moved to sit next to him, pressing herself against his chest. "I'm sure she's fine. Maybe she'll call back tomorrow."

"I suppose you're right."

"When am I not?"

And like that, they fell asleep, flames flickering before closed lids.

The next morning, Peeta was up before the sun. Katniss found him in the kitchen- having awoken from a rather vivid dream herself- nestled in a chair at the table. "Peeta?"

"You're up too, huh? I couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd make use of my time. There's a cake in the oven if you're hungry."

"It's a bit too early," she said. "But thank you."

"Yeah, I kinda guessed."

Katniss boiled the kettle, removing two cups from the cupboard. "So," she said.

"So?"

"Is there a reason you're baking cakes at 5 in the morning?"

Peeta took his cup from Katniss' outstretched hand, stirring the tea within. "I kept thinking about Effie. And Haymitch. And you, and me, and Johanna, and Finnick, and Chaff. Everything, really."

Katniss placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, unsure of what to say. Sometimes silence was all that was needed. "Why don't we bake some bread while we're here. Haymitch is probably running low- not that he'd even notice."

Scraping back his chair, Peeta smiled. "Sure."

A few hours later and Haymitch's doorbell was ringing. Both Katniss and Peeta had a spare key, but it was just customary now to knock. The door swung open with a bang, and Haymitch's gruff appearance greeted them. "And why do I owe you the pleasure of my company today?"

"We have food, Haymitch. Let us in," Katniss said.

He chuckled a little and opened the door wide, venturing off into the hall. They found him again in the living room, bottle in hand. Peeta whispered a small something to Katniss before retreating to the kitchen, where he always felt most at home.

"Lemme guess," Haymitch said, waving the bottle around as though it weighed no more than a feather. "You phoned Effie yourself."

Katniss let go of a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. "Why would you think that?"

"You look guilty as hell, Sweetheart."

"And you look like you could do with someone to cheer you up."

Haymitch leant back further, resting one leg upon the other. He stared ahead for a while, neither denying not admitting the statement. It was true: he missed her. His house grew lonely. But stubbornness and reckless guilt stood in the way of that. "So what did she say?"

Katniss picked at the arm of the sofa, twisting a loose thread between her fingers. "Um, she didn't."

"Ah, so she's still on the down low, huh?"

"I guess."

A silence fell upon the room then. Although jokes were made, both participants shared a certain worry- whether it should be voiced or not. No one knew for sure what had happened to Effie during her imprisonment. She'd not spoke of it at all, brushing it aside and moving onward as usual.

And as if by some incredulous coincidental act of God, the phone rang. Haymitch stared at the device as though the noise was new to him, an unknown resounding tone. After a second or two, he stood and stumbled to the origin of the sound. "Yeah?" he grunted, clasping the phone to his ear.

"Haymitch?" The voice was small, uncertain.

"Effie?" He almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. Katniss was watching intently from her seat, motioning for him to keep talking. "Effs, where have you been?"

"I don't know, I- Oh, how rude of me. You're not busy are you? I don't wish to be an inconvenience. I can always phone again at an easier time." She was rambling now, the words hurrying out of her mouth as though they had a train to catch, a better place to be.

"No, no it's fine," Haymitch said, almost desperate to keep her talking. "Are you... okay?"

"Of course! I- Haymitch, is that Peeta and Katniss in the background? Do tell the dears I said hello. And that I haven't purposely been ignoring their calls."

"Did you get that, guys?" Haymitch said with a smirk, glancing over his shoulder.

The pair looked at each other, ashamed of being caught, before Katniss turned back to him and said with a teasing grin, "Loud and clear."

A small giggle could be heard on the other end of the phone. It sounded like small chimes and twinkling bells and the sighs of a thousand angels.

Peeta and Katniss took that as their cue to leave: silently, and as though they'd never been there to begin with. Haymitch stared at the floor intently, eyebrows furrowed. "Why don't you come visit for a while, Sweetheart? The kids have missed your constant nagging."

"The kids," she laughed, "or you?"

"Maybe a bit of both." If admitting it meant that she'd come, perhaps he was just willing to do so. For a year, he'd pushed her to the back of his mind, but now it was as though she'd never been gone.

"I will catch a train tomorrow, Haymitch. Let's just try not to kill each other within the first five minutes, yes?"

"No promises," he mumbled, putting the phone down on days spent bickering and nights spent whispering. And with that, he took to his armchair, picking up the bottle and taking another swig.

On the other end of the line, Effie stared at the device. Her breathing had turned shaky, almost ragged. A single tear made its way down her cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

As he sat beneath the morning sun, thinking of everything and nothing at all, Haymitch realised something that now seemed rather important: Effie hadn't clarified anything. Was he supposed to collect her? Would she ring again? Perhaps she'd make her own way there, although that all depended upon how long she'd be staying, the luggage that would be brought.

Sighing, he rested his arm on the side of the bench and placed his head into his hands. What was he getting himself into? Surely, she didn't call for a reason. Surely... there was something more than he was allowed to see.

Whether it was at that very moment, or gradually over time, Haymitch couldn't say, but he came to the conclusion that if Effie wanted to be so inconspicuous, he'd leave her be. They all had stuff they wanted to forget; he was no stranger to that notion.

So when she rather unexpectedly knocked on his door at 10 that night, she was greeted with a brusque- if not slightly confused- welcome. "Bit late," Haymitch grumbled, trying to hide his surprise.

"I'm here, aren't I?" she said, voice abrupt. He stared at her for a while, deliberating that fact. Honestly, he almost wasn't sure. In the dim glow of the moonlight, she was barely visible. It lingered on her face, shading her downward eyes.

"Well?" he said.

She looked up, lips pointed. "Well?" she questioned.

"Are you coming in or not?"

She nodded politely, as though it was something she'd merely forgotten, and slipped through the gap between him and the frame. Behind, handle gripped in her extended hand, she dragged along a pink suitcase. It was huge compared to her small frame, Haymitch noted.

Now that she was here, in the light, in person, Haymitch took a moment to take it all in. Her face was still powdered and decoratively coloured- albeit slightly more natural- and an old peach wig sat atop her head. She was wrapped in a large brown coat, drowning beneath the fabric, and sported simple beige wedges on her feet. Haymitch almost laughed. "You've shrunk a little."

She didn't find it so amusing. "And you haven't changed a bit." There was something wrong in the way she spoke, her taunts half-hearted and feeble.

Haymitch studied her, evaluating the way she immediately smiled and laughed and walked through to his living room. Clasping her hands together, she said, "I packed enough for a week. That is, if you will have me that long, of course."

"Is something wrong?" he said after a beat.

Effie's face fell, but just for a moment. "Wrong? What would be wrong?"

Haymitch shook his head and picked up her suitcase. "Never mind," he grunted. "I'll take this upstairs."

She smiled and thanked him graciously, taking his usual seat in front of the fire. It was old and worn, yet strangely comforting. Fiddling with the watch on her wrist, she sighed. It had been so long, and yet no time at all.

The entire year had passed in a blur, and Effie wasn't sure she remembered- regardless of whether or not she wanted to- the most part of it. So much had changed, for both better and worse. She'd lost so much, yet gained a certain kind of freedom. Though whether she deserved that, who knew?

She was still lost in her thoughts when Haymitch returned. With his usual spot occupied, he retreated to the other chair, picking up a bottle along the way. "I see you're still drinking yourself into a stupor," Effie smiled.

"Not that it's any of your business, Sweetheart, but it's less nowadays," he said.

"I'm glad to hear." She crossed her legs and sat up a little straighter. "How are the children?"

"We've gotta stop calling them that, you know."

"I know," she said, gently laughing at her own words. There was a silence for a while, the question lost within it, before she spoke again. "I was angry at you for so long."

"I'm sorry." And he meant it, he really did.

Effie continued to stare at the fire, as though searching for something that couldn't be found. "It doesn't matter," she said again.

"Don't do that. You know it does." Her indifference and acceptance tore at him. He wanted her to yell, scream- hell, even hit him.

But she didn't. "I said it doesn't matter."

Even in the enveloping darkness that shrouded the room, Haymitch saw the way her hands shook slightly and her eyes glazed over, but as usual, they were soon to be replaced with a thought out expression and a quick, "You know, Haymitch, I really am tired. I think I'll go to bed now, or else I'll never be able to wake."

Haymitch grunted and gave a slight nod. "I, ur, sorted out a room for you. The covers are clean and stuff."

Effie smiled, and for the first time all day, it seemed genuine. "Thank you." And then she was gone.

Upstairs, Effie found that Haymitch had been true to his word. The room was tidy and well-kept, no clothes lying on the floor or rubbish littering the corners. Perhaps it wasn't the most elegant of arrangements, but little did that matter now.

She removed her wig with ease, glad to be free of the pressure, and rested it atop a wooden desk. Next to go was her makeup, and then her shoes, before she finally slipped into a homely nightgown. As she huddled beneath the covers, she found herself staring through the open window. Clouds shifted across the sky, resonating colours of blue and black, hazy shadows casting their darkness before the moon.

Her mind drifted back to distant memories, times long past. And she crumbled with the shame. Every night it would hit her, like a thousand bullets through her skull, and it remained there until she fell asleep. During the day it was so easy. It was so easy to put on a smile, stand tall, and pretend that everything was okay. But once she was alone, and the door to the rest of the world had closed, she finally let the pretense drop. And that's when everything fell apart.

She hated who she was. She hated her life and its pitiful- if not bittersweet- outcome. The things she'd done, the things she was surely destined to do. What was the point of it all?

But despite all of this, she would not allow herself relief. She would not allow herself to cry, to let it out. For she truly believed she deserved it within her: growing, expanding, filling the cracks of her body and twisting through her mind.

She was a mess of shattered glass and broken vines.

Downstairs, Haymitch sat with his head in his palms. He didn't want to admit that he'd missed her. He didn't want to admit that having her there, within his reach, was driving him mad. She looked so fragile, so thin. He of all people knew that something was wrong, yet he also knew that she was too stubborn to say anything. He smiled a little at the trait they shared.

On the way to his room, he stopped outside Effie's door. He knocked before gently pushing it open. She lay upon the bed, arms wrapped around the duvet. With the breeze from the window, her blonde locks flickered softly, quivering against the pillow.

Noticing her slight shiver, Haymitch grabbed a throw from the corner chair and placed it over her body. Effie's hand gripped it tight, as though it was her only lifeline. Pushing a lock of hair out of her face, Haymitch stepped back and pulled the door behind him, retiring to his own bed.

Sleep came quickly to him that night.

When Haymitch next awoke, he wasn't sure whether it was to his own screaming or hers. His hand flew to his bedside cabinet, rattling the drawer and searching for the knife. And it was at this point that he knew just whose cries were heard.

"Effie?" he yelled, stumbling to her room through the black of night. He hadn't bothered to turn on a light, to find his way carefully. He was reckless and he was terrified. Though, of course, the same could be said for Effie.

In his desperation, he almost ran straight into the newly locked door. "Effie, are you okay?" It was silent now. "Please, Effie. Just... let me know you're okay."

Just as he'd started to consider the possibility of breaking the door down himself, a small cough came from the other side of the wood. "I'm fine," she called out, voice raw and hoarse. "I'm fine, Haymitch."

He pressed his weight against the frame, palm still wrapped tight around the handle. "Open the door."

"Dressed like this?" she laughed, but it was strained. "Haymitch, don't be silly. Go back to bed."

He felt a rage building within him, burning at his edges and begging to be released. Struggling to constrain it, he said, "What was it about?"

"About?"

Haymitch laughed then, too. A laugh of bitterness, remorse and loss. "I'm no stranger to nightmares, Sweetheart."

Effie hesitated, putting Haymitch back on edge. "Nothing important. It was just a silly story. Good night, Haymitch."

"Eff-"

"Good night, Haymitch," she said again.

And then the house fell silent once more.

With an effort larger than it should have taken, Haymitch forced himself back to his bedroom. The time on the clock flashed 5am. He knew that sleep was now impossible, another night away. He also knew that his suspicions were correct, that there was something deeply troubling going on within Effie's mind.

She could be strong-willed, and that was a problem. If she didn't want them to know, they wouldn't. He used to admire the way she hid her problems away; it made her trustworthy, clever. But now? Now he wished she'd just let him in.

She was slowly falling apart.


	3. Chapter 3

Time passed slowly. Haymitch glared at the ceiling, at the twisting shapes engraved into the plaster. He spared another glance at the clock, begrudgingly accepting the fact that only an hour had passed since his awakening.

He rolled out of bed and lumbered down the stairs. Not quite to his surprise, Effie was already up. Rummaging around the kitchen, putting the dishes away. She hummed quietly, a tune that he did not know.

"Haymitch, if you're going to stand there all day, you could at least help," she said, without turning an inch.

"Right," he murmured. "Of course." Slowly, he picked up cups, plates, knives and forks, placing them in their desired homes. There was a lingering silence in the kitchen, an elephant in the room that was as large and as apparent as nothing before.

"Effie," he spoke again. "Do you want to... you know, talk about-"

"No."

Haymitch coughed awkwardly. "Right, but-"

"Leave it, Haymitch." Effie stared at the plate in her hand, fingers trembling ever-so-slightly. She closed her eyes before turning around. "I'm thinking of seeing the children today, perhaps helping Peeta in the bakery. I may as well do my part if I'm to stay here for a week."

"Try not to drive them mad," Haymitch said, a light touch to his voice.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm sure they're used to it living near you."

Haymitch chuckled at her reply, attempting with all his might to avoid the looming desiderium which so longed to betray him. "Fair play, Trinket."

Placing the last dish into the cupboard, Effie leaned back against the counter. "Thank you."

Haymitch frowned. "For what?"

"Letting me stay."

"It's only good manners," Haymitch said, hoping to induce the giggle he so often loved to hear. It didn't.

"Mm," she said, turning to face the window once more. She stayed like that, illuminated by the sun. And after a minute or so, Haymitch left.

There was a little bench in his garden, one he often retreated to when he wished to gather his thoughts. It was partially broken, the paint peeling in places, but he couldn't bear to get a new one. He wasn't quite sure why.

And it was on this bench that he sat that morning, toes pressed into the grass. From his spot, he could see Effie busying herself with the cleaning, scrubbing the worktop as though it deserved to be punished, drowned.

And Effie, within that small little room, was doing just that. She sighed to herself, an extended sigh that was dramatic even for her tastes. In total honesty, she missed the days she could pretend to be so astray, so wrong in her assumptions and blind in her knowledge. It was all there for the world to see. She had played her part, and now she was forgotten... kind of.

Not that this was a bad thing. Believe it when it's said that she should love to disappear. But wanted or not, it was an impossibility. She was etched onto their souls, a bearer of death. Her face would haunt many minds for many years to come.

Likewise, Effie could also see Haymitch from where she stood. It was an odd thing, for his face brought back so many emotions, so many unheard cries. And the anger. Oh, how angry she had been.

Effie was no fool. She hadn't always understood, and she was ashamed of that fact. But sometime along the course of her life, she'd realised. And she'd almost cracked.

Almost.

Haymitch had sensed it. Cinna had known. But neither could put her mind at ease. They had told her not to breathe a word, to keep up the facade. And so she did.

And so she was doing now.

Reaching forwards, she pulled the blind shut, covering her face with trembling palms. She didn't want to slip; she couldn't bear to let them see. To let _him_ see.

Her breathing quickened, gaining speed at an irrational pace. Oh god, the things she saw in her mind. The people, the faces, the blood. She hated the colour red. She hated it with a burning passion. But above all, she hated how she had been the one to spill it.

"Come on now," she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. "Just stop." She closed her eyes and waited.

It seemed like hours before she had calmed herself, though it was only a matter of minutes. Immediately, she aimed for the bathroom, fixing her makeup and burying the red beneath another layer of powder. She piled it on, hoping to see nothing of herself again.

Effie stared at her reflection and smiled. She found that she had to practice it more those days. And then she left, standing tall, a colourful and cheery portrayal of a person.

She barely had time to knock on the door before Peeta swung it open. "Effie!" he said, pulling her in for a hug. She tried hard not to shrink away from the embrace. "How have you been? I hope life with Haymitch isn't too bad?"

Effie chucked gently. "Well, it isn't insufferable, I suppose."

At that moment, a serein drizzled onto them, despite the paling blue of the sky. Peeta hurried everyone indoors, claiming that he would hate for them to catch a chill. The sound of Effie's heels resonated throughout the hallway.

"Oh, I love how you've decorated," she said, hands waving frantically. "It's beautiful."

"Thank you, Effie," Katniss said, smiling politely.

Then they walked through to the kitchen, greeted with the sharp smell of melted chocolate and blended fruit. Effie had to take a moment to sit down, to lean her back against the chair and disappear into the wood.

Sometimes she forgot that she was real, that she was breathing. It all just seemed to fade away, no matter how hard she tried to focus. She struggled to remember what the sound of laughter brought, or how a crushing realisation could derail even the strongest plans; she couldn't taste the heat of tea on her tongue, or smell the scented lillies in her home; and she couldn't hear the endless talking, the mindless chatter.

She couldn't bear to be alive.

Through her chest, she could feel her heart beat, faster and faster, no intent of slowing down.

"Effie?" Peeta said, forehead creased with worry. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, dear," she smiled, eyes strained. "Just a little tired nowadays. I'm getting old."

He accepted this, leaving her with as much dignity as possible, before igniting a conversation about the weather and the woods this time of year.

"Effie, you could come out with us one day?" Katniss suggested, treading carefully.

Peeta picked up from there, stating how it would be lovely for them all to go hunting. Effie stood and walked over to the window, and soon it was settled. She should go with them the next day, and after that, she would help Peeta with his cooking.

The following morning came around quickly. Effie awoke at seven, bundling downstairs in a vest top, cardigan, and semi-tight trousers. Haymitch looked her over, eyebrows raised. "And where are you going?"

"Hunting," she said proudly.

Haymitch laughed so hard he almost keeled over. "You? Hunting? Sweetheart, I wish you luck."

Pushing past him, Effie tutted and muttered a sharp, "Thank you." She was in no mood to argue.

Yet as she closed the door behind her, she heard him yell, "Try not to shoot yourself."

The path in the woods was green and overgrown. Flowers sprouted through the soil, striving for the sunlight given through small gaps in the trees. They towered above her, stoic yet peaceful. Nature would always reign free.

She tried. Believe it that she tried. But no matter how much trying she did, to hunt was impossible. Hours passed, though she did not seem to realise. They slipped through her fingers like water in a stream, floating away without a single word. It seemed to do that, time. Far too often.

When she finally gave up, it was not due to her own wishes. Peeta had insisted upon it after she rather indelicately cut her own palm, grazing it against the arrow head. She hadn't even realised until Katniss spotted the flow of blood, dripping steadily onto the woodland floor, showing no signs of stopping. And oh, how Haymitch would laugh. Effie had only managed to shoot once or twice herself, and even then, she hit nothing.

Baking, it seemed, was also not her specialty. Despite her constant attempts to remain cheerful- especially after the previous day's failure- Effie found that nothing she produced turned out okay. They tasted of burnt flour and excess sugar. Everything was either too much or too little.

And to top it all off, to add to the incessant beating, she could hardly walk down the street without preying eyes, squinting as though she was the fleck of dirt upon their new lives, the one thing out of place.

So that night, she said nothing. Haymitch offered his usual dose of mockery, laughing at her wound and ignorig all futile ideas of giving in. Effie supposed he had drank quite a lot, regardless of his meaning to slow down.

The next day passed in a blur. How lond had she been there now? Three days? Four? Either way, this had been one that required no leaving the bed, no stepping outside of the covers.

And so as she lay there, staring at the blackened walls and shadowed floor, she decided that it was not her fault. It had simply got dark around her.

She picked at the bandage on her hand, and for just one moment, she wanted to see blood. Wanted to feel pain and bring tears.

But there was nothing.

She was nothing.


End file.
